Elizabeth's Advice
by Cherusha
Summary: Norrington pins Jack Sparrow to the floor of his cabin. Find out how! PG13 for SparrowNorrington UST. And because drunk!Norrington is funny. Written preAWE.


**Title**: Elizabeth's Advice

**Disclaimer**: All owned by Disney! I seek no profit.  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for PotC 2  
**Rating**: PG-13 for **Sparrow/Norrington** UST. And because drunk!Norrington is funny.

**Summary**: Norrington pins Jack Sparrow to the floor of his cabin. Find out how!

* * *

And there it happened at forty-five minutes exactly past one o'clock in the a.m. -- if people made watches of such precision back then - that Norrington, erstwhile dignified and respected Commodore and currently drunk out of his mind, stepped into the captain's cabin and demanded of Jack a duel to the death for Elizabeth Swann's honour. I say "stepped into" but in truth it was more of a "stumbling, rollicking _swaggering_ into", and I say "demanded of him" because it lends the story a much more dramatic air than if I were to simply say "opened his mouth and burst out laughing." Because I also very much want to say that Jack upon hearing this demand leapt at once to his feet, more than willing to duel for fair lady's -- in this case Elizabeth's -- heart and hand, instead of staring open-mouthed in outrage at the realization that his precious hoard had been raided. _Again!_ But that was what indeed had happened; on this you may have my word of honour.

But let us first rewind back to certain events of the day to collect a clearer picture of how this scene might have emerged. Previously Jack had sequestered Elizabeth in the confines of the _stairs_ to propose that they be joined together in holy matrimony, til' death do them part, and all that rubbish. Now, why he did this was anyone's guess, though to the detached observer it may be conceivable that he was feeling a bit -- shall we say -- horny as of late. Elizabeth herself, of course, thought mostly of Will and rejected the offer with about as much grace as a woman of her disposition could muster short of a healthy slap to the face. But then it cannot be argued that some small part of her was intrigued, almost beyond her control, by what Jack did have to offer. And these two sides of her self -- her love of Will versus her attraction to the very pirateness of Jack -- waged war inside (Please note that at no time did Elizabeth consider that what Jack had to offer would be a lack of personal toiletries and a shipload of smelly men. Nobody ever said that Elizabeth was always rational).

Now it may come to the reader that James Norrington, in observation of the entire proceedings from his advantageous fly-on-the-wall position as the newly assigned deck scrubber, might have felt his heart break a little more, might grow a little more bitter, might even -- dare I say it? -- turn to the dark side of emo? Not so! Not so, my friends. Norrington, as witnessed by many a patron in that pub brawl on Tortuga, was a man of action. Rejection in favour for a lowly but honourable blacksmith was one thing. Rejection for a _pirate_ -- especially when that pirate was Jack Sparrow! -- was inconceivable. In short, it would not be allowed. The first order of business was to kill Jack Sparrow, thereby removing temptation from Elizabeth, and then to find William Turner and make them marry. This might come as a shock to some, the degree of severity to which Norrington was willing take on for the marital bliss of his ex-fiancee and the man who took her away. Nobody ever said that Norrington was always rational.

But as the day progressed, one might even suggest that Norrington cared not for young love's marital bliss at all and it was only the possibility of "sticking it" to Sparrow that he cared for. I regret to say that those people are more or less on the nose. This "sticking it" business, Norrington had decided, would begin with the annihilation of Sparrow's most beloved treasure: his rum supply. The intricate-looking lock that separated Norrington from the goods (so to speak) was broken into in a matter of seconds. The intriguing bit, however, was not that Norrington was so adept at picking locks, so skilled with his fingers (though make no doubt the man _is_ quite skilled with his fingers) that he would have no trouble unlocking the chastity belt of medieval princess. The intriguing bit was that he seemed to _know_ Sparrow so well: He took one look at that lock, with all it's winding metal and delicate string connected upon delicate string, snorted derisively, and felt around the edges for the true mechanism to spring open its safe.

Ah success, there it was: Sparrow's personal stash. Rows and rows of rum neatly aligned, with even the occasional bottle of fine sherry which amused Norrington greatly, and he made a mental note to bring it up later in front of Sparrow's crew. Though how could he adequately embarrass Sparrow after he had killed him? It was a problem. But problems such as these were best left to be shoved into dark corners of minds when righteous pursuits were underway. He picked up one bottle, tested its weight and pondered smashing it against the floor, watching the glass explode in a million tiny pieces -- pieces that would then turn into a million tiny little Jack Sparrows and scatter every which way on their little Jack Sparrow legs. Jack Sparrow would probably make Norrington pick every single piece up afterwards, however, the bastard, and Norrington did not fancy being on hands and knees any second longer than that which was necessary for show. He tested the weight of the bottle again. Well, there certainly was no point to wasting good rum!

Sometime during all this quiet introspection, Norrington had made a slight but crucial error in calculation. The original plan was to drink up as much as possible with still his wits about him and then to throw the rest overboard. But by estimating that he could easily handle four whole bottles instead of three, Norrington was now swaying back and forth across the room. And it was at this time that Norrington decided it would be absolutely _comical_ to steal up to "object of hatred's" bedchamber, catch him unawares and demand that they duel to the death at sunrise, pistols and swords and empty bottles of rum. He could barely contain himself from laughing out loud as he made his way upstairs, one hand held firmly over his mouth, the other clutching the neck of a half-finished bottle, sloshing liquid every which way.

And so, having said all that was necessary to say, we have arrived back to our current picture. Norrington, with revenge in his heart and drink on the brain, stumbled brazenly into Jack's cabin and nearly had a fit over the scene in front of him. Jack Sparrow, only recently relieved of his boots, breeches and hat, was literally climbing halfway into his cot when he was so rudely interrupted.

"Dear God, it is _too_ much!" exclaimed Norrington, bending over and clutching his stomach.

In case you were wondering what Jack's reaction upon breakage was, it was this: "Ack!" "Norrington!" and finally "RUM!"

In fact, it was "RUM!" that screamed the loudest and "RUM!" that drove every immediate thought and action after that. From his cot Jack leapt at Norrington like a riled lioness whose cubs were being threatened... only to fall flat on his face as one leg tangled in the sheets. Norrington, upon witnessing the fall, burst out in even louder and more ridiculous laughter. There might also have been tears at this point.

Flustered and fuming, Jack picked himself up off the floor and stalked -- arms flailing -- towards the laughing arse. "You..." and he searched for the right word. "Scallywag! You stole my rum!" (Somewhere Anamaria rolled her eyes and counted her money.)

Norrington, for his part, admitted to the dirty deed at once. "Mmm-hmm," he said through the tears, taking a swig. "That I did."

"But thats... _piracy!_"

"Then congratulate me, Sparrow. I'm well on my way to turning out a _fine_ member of your crew."

"How many? Tell me now how many or by my Pearl I'll--"

"Tsh, just four... _hic_ and a half. Or is it five? Six? Hm, seven? In any case there's still plenty left." He snickered. "Along with the sherry..."

"That was a gift!"

"_Ri-ight_." Norrington swaggered past, shoving the half-empty bottle into Jack's chest. "You can have the rest. I think I've drank enough for the night."

Jack's brain was tearing in several varied and fervent directions at once. One healthy chunk cried out in murderous rage "No! Rum! Kill!" while another was incessantly bewailing that Norrington and Elizabeth were now clearly cut from the same cloth as they turned out to _both_ be dastardly rum-stealers. Still another, a quite instinctive nag, paused to admire Norrington's cut, while a small but increasingly urgent voice was begging Jack to notice that "Norrington in your cot, Norrington in _your cot!_"

"Wah, no good! No good!" In a flash, Jack was by Norrington's side and trying to pull him from the sheets. "My... cot... you... great... big..." he gritted his teeth and heaved with all his might. "You're not allowed to be drunk, only _I'm_ allowed to be drunk. Especially by me own rum- Ah!"

He had heaved. By God, he had heaved with all his might, and Norrington, who was getting very annoyed at all this forceful heaving anyway, decided to be the gentleman and assist Jack in the removing of his person from his bed. Unfortunately Norrington miscalculated the magnitude of this needed assistance so that when he pushed and Jack pulled, combined they heaved a little too far and both men ended up tumbling onto the floor. Blame the drink.

"_Ow_," Norrington cried out irritably as the bridge of his nose bumped hard against Jack's collarbone. He shook his head to clear out the muddy swamp that had taken over his brain, blinked and stared down at his enemy. Oh, Sparrow was pinned down for once. That's nice.

"Um," said Jack from underneath.

Norrington's brow furrowed. "Yes, yes, what is it?"

"Well, it seems that I am on the floor."

"Yes."

"And you are on top of me."

"So it would seem."

"And I am unable to move-"

"Shh!" Norrington propped elbows on either side. "I've suddenly remembered what it was I'd come to see you about."

"The rum-"

"No, not the _rum_-"

"Ah." Jack shifted uncomfortably (depending on one's point of view). Hot rum-stained breath was fanning his face in a heavy and consistent manner, and for any other person this would have been quite impossible to bear. Jack, however, being the aficionado he was, was intoxicated -- and thoroughly intoxicated by rum he had been more often than not. But considering the circumstances... as well as the _source_, this current intoxication called for some alarm. For once the consequences seemed to outweigh the pleasure of the drink. He lifted up a bit.

"I don't suppose we could discuss this from a more gentlemanly and _upright_ manner-"

"-actually I find it much easier to concentrate when you're not squirming about."

"Oh, sorry," Jack said and stopped moving. "It's just that... well, you're quite heavy, you see."

"Oh." Norrington pressed up, bending his knees. "That better?"

"Much. Now then. You look like a man with much on his mind."

"Right... Elizabeth! Marriage. No. Duel! Will." Norrington thought over that for a moment and realised that it didn't make much sense. He added "Pirate" at the end of it to sort things out.

Jack, who had had another pleasant wave of rum hit his face understood everything. "Ah," he said. "You're jealous."

"What? _No!_ Sparrow I realise that I may very well have underneath me the vainest pirate in all the seven seas, but surely even _you_ could not possibly think that I would want to marry you."

So flabbergasted was Jack by this fervent denial that the most loquacious pirate in all the seven seas could not speak for a full ten seconds. And then he said, "I wasn't thinking about marrying me, mate. Though white _is_ my colour."

Norrington snorted from above. "Are you sure it isn't gold?"

"Depends on who I'm wearing. So does this mean you're going to fight Elizabeth? Because she has a terrible thing for me. Always has. Won't step down without a fight, but luck is on your side, mate." And Jack lifted his head a little higher to whisper in Norrington's ear. "Because I'm rooting for you."

And then Norrington did just about the rudest thing a man could do to ruin the mood. He belched. Not only that (for that hardly matters), he admitted to Jack that his _original_ original plan was to kill him.

"And how did you plan to do that?" was the logical question posed.

"By the sword," Norrington considered after a moment. He had to lean back a little as his arms were getting quite sore from all this propping up -- and the thought of relaxing into comfortable warmth was becoming more and more attractive an option. "Something like poison would be too cowardly for my taste. But mainly I was hoping that once you discovered your rum stolen, you'd be so overcome by despair that you'd commit suicide yourself. It was a vain hope, I admit, but a hope nonetheless. The one thing that has not left me entirely." He smiled weakly.

"I may yet," shrugged Jack. "It would afterall be a very Captain Jack Sparrow thing to do. A complete surprise. With no one suspecting it?"

Norrington laughed at that. It was a much more lighthearted laugh and Jack thought about how nice it sounded in comparison to the bitter one he'd heard so many times before. He was about to then say something else to prolong this intangibly sunny feeling when all of a sudden his mouth was stopped from response by an equal and opposite force (see: Newton's Third Law). Pressed right against his lips, I dare say.

There was at first the taste of rum with its salty, bitter underlying sting, and then the full awareness of six-foot-tall ex-commodore bearing down upon him like a pirate over a chest of Spanish Galleons. Or something. The word "plunder" sprung forth into Jack's mind, and so ridiculous a connotation it brought him that Jack chuckled, teeth clacking against someone else's. It was all becoming so very interesting.

"What?" Norrington asked, breaking off the kiss. He looked so genuinely confused that Jack wondered at the health of his mind. A section of Norrington's hair had untangled from his ribbon and it hung loosely down, tickling the edge of Jack's nose. He blew at it.

"Oh nothing, I'm just lying here," said Jack, making to inch forward and recover that precious intervening space.

Norrington moved back a bit, chagrined. "I thought it was a good idea to make you stop yammering," he mumbled.

"Ah," said Jack, moving forward.

"And stop moving."

Jack stopped moving at once and stared up expectantly. Norrington was at that point leaning forward rather vicariously, his eyes blinking sleepily as if trying to clear his vision. In fact it seemed as if Norrington was about two seconds away from making himself a very comfortable bed on top of Jack, and much as Jack _wasn't_ averse to the thought, he didn't much care to think about the state of his back the next day. Time to keep talking.

"Is this part of the plan, then?"

"Pure spontaneity," Norrington yawned.

Jack's eyes widened. "Truly?"

"Just thought of it now," whispered Norrington against his lips.

"A taste of freedom?" asked Jack, his hands travelling down to grasp at Norrington's wrists.

"Yess..."

Jack moaned piteously (and in self-pity) for what he was about to do then and there, and using all his might, he flipped Norrington onto his back. Clambering free -- a feat more difficult than it looked, and that is even excluding the physical aspect of it -- Jack rocked back on his heels to stand.

"You're drunk, mate," he breathed. "You're drunk and confused and perhaps have gone a little too long without a good polish to the ol' knob... but drunk nonetheless. Now you might think me a fool for not laying into you like a pirate who admittedly has a fondness of shiny things of value -- and you are _very_ shiny right now -- but I happen to be a little more fond of my current living status, and knowing you I should expect the following scene the next day were it the case that this were to go along any further." And here he affected a ludicrous exaggeration of refined English tones, "'_Sparrow_ you have taken advantage of my holy and sacred body, I demand your head!' and no good can ever come of that, mate, and Norrington, Norrington? ...Commodore?"

Jack tapped his foot against Norrington's boot. But the ex-commodore was already asleep.

* * *

EPILOGUE:

The next morning the crew got up and went about their business.

The next morning Norrington carried a vague look of confusion on his face, like he wasn't quite sure of where he was. And he kept rubbing his arms as if they were sore.

The next morning Jack went up to Elizabeth and said the following:

"You know how you said to me that there'd come a moment when I'd have the chance to do the right thing, and I said 'I love those moments. I like to wave at them as they pass by'? I wish I would listen to me."

The next morning Elizabeth looked at Jack and wondered how much rum he had drunk last night.


End file.
